


Hostile

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin copes with the negative reactions to his performance at the Toronto SARS benefit festival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemniskate67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemniskate67/gifts).



> inspired by the events of the Toronto benefit concert, and especially by Lain's description of it.

"Tell me what happened," Joey says again. Justin shifts uncomfortably, though his bus is cool and the bed perfectly mussed to his liking.

"It was fine," he says. "I mean, yeah. People were pissed, they were just drunk assholes, and there were some water bottles thrown. You hear about that show in DC last year, the one Eminem was at? People fuckin' died at that one. It's festivals, people just--"

"Justin," and Joey's voice is tired. "Come on, man, don't lie to me. Just tell me what happened."

Justin sighs and stares at the ceiling. He doesn't want Joey to know about it. It's not like he's ashamed of what happened, God, no -- but it's over and done with and there's no use talking about it now. "It was just some water bottles. Nothing to get upset about."

"I heard there was a sign?"

Justin swallows. "Yeah. Someone. Someone made a sign. It's no big deal, Joe, I swear."

"Justin," and Joey's voice is so cool now.

"It. It said 'Timberlake is a fag', OK? Like we haven't heard _that_ a million times before. Just, the screen kept flashing to it, like, hours before I was even on. And--" he laughs, suddenly, remembering. "I mean, the shit they threw, OK, the water bottles, those could have hurt, right? I was only really worried because of Fish being right behind me and all. But, man, someone threw a fuckin' bran muffin at me."

That gets a startled laugh, and Justin feels something unclench in his chest. "You're shitting me, man."

"No way. It was so fuckin' funny, the host, Mike, he came out afterwards and he was all, 'you gonna pelt me with Timbits?'"

They're laughing now and past it, and Justin relaxes as Joey starts giggling something about how if food is thrown at you, you at least have something to eat afterwards, unlike all those little stuffed animals they used to get, and the moment is gone. Justin's eager to let it go.

* * *

He's all but forgotten the conversation a week and a half later, when he's trotting off stage after a triumphant "Like I Love You" and catches himself straight up into Joey's arms.

"The fuck?!" he squeals in delight, and Joey's grinning delightedly and pounding him on the back. Tiny's there, shoving them towards the bus, so they both go running for it and it's almost like old times as they tumble in and the door clicks shut. Justin leads Joey back to the bedroom and says, "I need to go shower, man."

"Be my guest," Joey says, sprawling comfortably on the bed and grabbing a magazine. Justin's grin is uncontainable as he goes up to the bus's miniscule bathroom.

Ten minutes later he's out, in nothing but a towel, and he flings himself into the bedroom again, on top of Joey, who barely manages to toss the magazine aside before they're tangled together, both laughing. Justin beams down at Joey. "You shit, you never told me you were coming."

"It was kind of last minute," Joey admits. "I kind of. I just really wanted to see you."

"Joe," Justin says softly, and cups his boyfriend's face in one hand. They kiss tenderly, then, for a few minutes, and then Justin becomes aware that Joey's arms are tight around his waist. "Joe," he says again, pushing up just a little to look down at him.

"J," Joey says, and his voice is weak, his eyes sober, "you didn't tell me they hit you."

"What?" Justin stares, confused, at Joey.

"The show. The benefit."

"Wh--" Justin pushes back, or tries to, but Joey's still holding him. "How did you--"

"I called Trace," Joey says. "He made a copy of the tape he made, sent it to me. That's why I came up."

"Fuck you," Justin swears and breaks Joey's grip this time, and he gets to his feet, stalking savagely around the small bedroom, pulling boxers on under the towel, then grabbing at a t-shirt. ",i>Fuck you," he says again, swinging on Joey, who's sitting up on the bed now. "You couldn't just let it go--"

"Fucking shit, Justin, you think I could?" Joey says right back, hotly. "You sounded scared shitless, I knew it was worse than you were telling me. Why did you-- why didn't you tell me?"

Justin stops and balls up the towel in his hands, staring at it. "What the fuck does it matter," he says.

"It fucking matters because you nearly got brained by some asshole with decent aim," Joey says, and Justin shakes in spite of his determination not to. "It fucking _matters_ because that's some serious shit and you can't pretend it's OK and not deal with it."

Justin stares at the towel some more. His eyes are burning. "Fuck you," he swears weakly, half under his breath. "They were just assholes. It doesn't matter."

Joey stands up and Justin takes a step back, plastering himself against a cabinet. Joey doesn't move closer, just puts his hands in his pockets. "They were hostile. They didn't want you there," he says, voice low and serious. "They planned it ahead. It wasn't just a bunch of bored drunks."

"So." Justin refuses to look at Joey.

"So. Come _on_ , Justin, listen to me," and now Joey does take a step closer. "You haven't had a crowd respond this badly in years. Not since we opened for Janet. Remember that? How they'd start off booing us every night?"

Justin nods weakly. "But. By the end of the set. We'd always have them. And." He stops before he can draw the comparison.

Joey draws it for him. "And this crowd wasn't like that."

"They hated me," and Justin's shaking all over now. "They fucking wanted to hurt me."

He doesn't avoid him now, when Joey steps close. He lets Joey hold him, lets Joey's hands rub his back, lets Joey's comforting touch ease the bone-deep shaking that's rattling him to the core. Eventually they move back to the bed, and Justin feels it pass after a while. He realizes, suddenly, that Joey's shirt is wet under his cheek.

"It's OK," Joey whispers. "Hey. It's OK. I'm here, all right? I've got you."

Justin nods and puts his head down again, and sleep beckons, finally, easier than it's come in days.


End file.
